This chapter contains a line from True Grit, by Charles Portis.*

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort

Silence. Bizarre in the midst of a battle. But once Harry looked out at the courtyard, he understood the odd hush.

His heart sank.

Voldemort's army loomed over rows and rows of kneeling witches and wizards, wands digging into their captives' throats, heads, and backs. In the first few rows Harry saw Angelina Johnson, Anthony Goldstein, Cho Chang, and Seamus. Madam Hooch and Ossie, the Glass Hoof's Watchman, knelt alongside strangers, some wearing brown Aurors robes, all looking bloodied and defeated.

Voldemort strode into the center, his back to Harry, his slick, gray head moving side to side as he admired the view.

Some in the crowd gawked at him, faces numb with wonder and disbelief; everyone else's twisted with hate and revulsion. Dennis Creevey fell into the second camp. Eyeing Voldemort's sparkling silver robes, Dennis had an idea. He knew it would likely be his last, but with the dark wizard standing so close, he felt he had no choice.

The sound of the boy gathering phlegm in his throat then letting it fly rang like an atomic blast in the unnatural quiet. Everyone heard it; they also heard him huff, disgusted at having missed his target. Gasps and barks of laughter ricocheted around the courtyard. Voldemort's self-satisfied smile had vanished. He turned to stare down at Dennis, scarlet eyes mapping the boy's grimy face.

No fear. The little fool showed no fear. Well, that was fixable. Voldemort raised his hand and touched the tip of his wand to Dennis's cheek. The defiant light in the young Gryffindor's eyes died in a green flash and the boy keeled over. His head made a blunt thudding noise as it hit the ground.

"WHY?" Harry screamed. "WHY?"

Voldemort tilted his chin toward the sky. He closed his eyes and sniffed at the air, thrusting his head forward, rolling it in a semi-circle as he inhaled. The sound and movement was obscene, like a maggot wriggling within rotting flesh. He turned slowly, lips stretching into a serpentine smile once Harry came into sight.

 "Harry Potter... We meet again."

*WO

The Great Hall, Hogwarts ...2:10 a.m.

Snape dashed through the Great Hall, heading for the antechamber. With each step he berated himself, his mind morbidly ticking through the list of tortures Voldemort might be inflicting on Harry-yet if something had happened to Harry, he would know; if Voldemort dared touch Harry, Snape would feel it in his bones.

"Lumos!" He growled, frightening the witches and wizards in their paintings as he burst into the antechamber.

The room looked as if it hadn't been used since Harry's fourth year. Dust shrouded the furniture, the fireplace sat cold and black, but the scritch scritch of mice scurrying to hide meant the room hadn't been entirely deserted. Snape remembered the night the Triwizard champions' names came out of the goblet; he remembered following Dumbledore and McGonagall through a hidden passage up to the headmaster's office after Karkaroff and Madame Maxime left the antechamber in a huff with their students, but he couldn't recall where the passage was. He began kicking the walls, testing for a weak point. And though his hands were a pained, mottled mess (thanks to the barrier), he used his fists as well.

"You there, making all that racket!" came a voice from the wall. "This is not a whistle stop! You people can't keep banging in and out of here as you please!" 

"Who else has been through here?" Snape demanded.

"Two boys blazed through a while ago, one dark, one light, and with not a word of greeting!" Another feminine voice complained.

"I'm trying to get to the dark one," Snape said, swinging his wandlight in the direction of the last voice he'd heard. "Tell me, where did they come through?"

"Why the passage, of course," said the wizened, pale old witch in the painting hanging at the fireplace's edge.

Snape growled. "Yes, but where is it?"

"Tisn't for everyone to know, now is it?"

"Not for every - Look, I need to get out of here! You do know what's going on, don't you? You do know that we're at war?"

The witch sniffed. "Of course, young man! All the more reason to be cautious!"

"I'm a teacher here!" Snape sputtered.

"Oh?"

"Ah, yes. Yes, Violet, he is. I recognize him now. That hooked-nose, foul demeanor... Snape, isn't it?"

Snape advanced on the witch called Violet, his expression dark and deadly. Violet shrank back, quivering-a thin hand at her bosom, the other flopping up to her forehead in a dramatic arc.

"The boys that came through here are my sons, Harry and Draco. Harry is in danger. Tell me how to get out of here! Now!"

*WO   

Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts ...2:28 a.m.

Dumbledore's body still lay on the red high backed sofa when McGonagall and Moody entered the room. His eyes were closed; his wand lay placid in his open palm; a mound of silvery ashes sat upon his chest. Fawkes. McGonagall had last seen the phoenix perched on Dumbledore's arm, his orange-gold head resting against the man's right temple. Tears flowed like liquid pearls onto what McGonagall imagined was the kill spot-but there was no healing. Dumbledore was dead. Dilys Derwent and Dexter Fortescue were still sobbing, but Phineas Nigellus Black couldn't stop staring at Dumbledore's body, his head shifting minutely back and forth in a restless denial.

Moody stumped across the floor to stand next to the sofa. Groaning, he leaned over. He grasped the sofa's edge to get down on his good knee, then laid a hand on Dumbledore's shoulder. "Damn fool," he whispered gruffly. "Damn fool!" He shook the headmaster, upsetting some of Fawkes' ashes.

"Alastor!" said McGonagall sharply.

"You know, Snape could say water was wet and I'd curse him a liar, but he's right about Potter. Gryffindors, damn impulsive fools, the lot of you..."

"Perhaps, but I recall Albus having to speak with Headmaster Dippet countless times on your behalf in our fifth year. You were constantly caught out of Ravenclaw after curfew, tailing Tom Riddle because ‘he smelled evil', you said."

"Yeah, and I was bloody well right about him in the end, wasn't I?"

"Quite, but Dumbledore knew what he was doing, better than anyone. Now it's time for us to do our bit, to make sure his sacrifice isn't in vain."

"Yeah." Moody ran a hand under his nose and the heel of his palm over his eyes, then grunted loudly to cover his sniffles as he shifted to rise. "Yeah it is. Now, where're those brooms, Headmistress?"

*WO

Staircase to Entrance Hall, Hogwarts ...2:30 a.m.

Voldemort's eyes never wavered from Harry's, even as the man flew to the foot of the staircase. Without a broom.

Are you ready to die, Harry?

Harry winced; Voldemort was pricking at the edges of his brain, in Parsletongue. The temptation to open his mind, to respond to a language that came to him as naturally as English staggered Harry, but he wasn't the same undisciplined boy he was a year ago; now he Occluded and booted the red-eyed devil out.

"Oh, bravo!" Voldemort taunted aloud. He began ascending the staircase, walking now, floating up the steps, like some sort of snake-faced beauty queen, robes riffling behind him like liquid silver. "Seems you've learned a thing or two in our time apart."

"Dennis was fourteen!"

"Old enough to know better."

"You fucking lowlife." Harry's voice broke.

Voldemort wrangled his lips into a sneer. "All this time spent in Severus's company, yet you remain the same unschooled, ill-mannered nothing you were that night in the graveyard."

"Some don't mind it."

"Oh, but I do. You are at my mercy at the moment, and as such, I believe I'm due a bit of respect."

"Keep believing that."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed as he continued his slow glide up the steps. "Such bold speech, even after I have bested you and your...followers. Now the wizarding world will be as nature intended. Picture it Potter: No more diseased ignorance poisoning our world; no more Half-bloods, no more Mudbloods."

"Brilliant plan, what with all the inbreeding, but you must know that witches and wizards will still be born to people who aren't magical."

"Sadly, yes, but without guidance, that deviation will snuff itself out after a generation."

"Not with people like my dad around to teach them."

Voldemort came to a stop in front of Harry. "Potter, the second Severus reveals himself, I will end him." He laughed. "Oh, that pissy scowl is wonderfully familiar; seems my Severus has made rather an impression on you after all."

"Yours? He was never yours."

Voldemort winked lewdly, long spidery fingers caressing his wand. "Oh, but he was, my boy, believe me he was."

Harry puzzled over the man's meaning, then noting the nasty glint in the dark wizard's eyes, Harry said, "You're a liar and you're disgusting. He would never..." He swallowed. "Not with the likes of you!"

"Oh, grow up, Potter! You'll soon learn it costs dearly to be counted among my ranks-or rather, your little friends will..." Voldemort rolled his eyes as Harry glared at him, face red with rage. "Really boy, don't you find this disdain for me tiresome? If you can forgive Severus for telling me of the prophecy's existence, surely you can muster up a bit of forgiveness for me as well. As you recall, I was willing to spare your mother..."

"Forgiveness? You serious?"

"It strikes me as the sort of simple-minded claptrap Dumbledore might have pushed on you as a means to defeat me."

"Not to hurt your feelings, but you weren't always the topic of our conversations."

Voldemort laughed, inadvertently charmed by Harry's grit. "Yes, Dumbledore always had little regard for my beliefs, but I must say, growing up, I had rather a lot for his-those he held in his younger years, that is. Little history lesson, Potter: Dumbledore was a trailblazer-he and Gellert Grindelwald. Like me, they supported wizard supremacy over Muggles. ‘For the Greater Good' was their motto. Catchy, but too noncommittal, too polite; I say if you mean to rule the world it's best to be absolute, in word and in deed."

Voldemort smiled as Harry tried, and failed not to look confused. That Dumbledore and Grindelwald had known one another did not surprise him-Aberforth had mentioned as much the night he and Snape arrived at the Hog's Head last summer, but he hadn't said anything about them sharing wizard supremacist views.

"Shocked, Potter? Surprised to learn your dear Dumbledore was hardly the beacon of light he fashioned himself to be? That he was not the paragon of perfection and virtue many have been hoodwinked into believing? Oh, don't judge him too harshly. See, he didn't become that Dumbledore until after he killed his younger sister."

"You lie! He never killed - He didn't have a sister!"

"Forgive me, perhaps my choice of words was a bit...inflammatory, but he did have a sister. A delicate, blond poppet called Ariana... There was an argument at the family home, a bit of chaos, so no one really knows whose curse killed her, but he was there, in the mix." Voldemort sighed. "Pity, if we had the time, perhaps Dumbledore's brother could share the family shame with you. It's a rather enlightening tale, darkly entertaining in its irony. Jealousy, mental illness, Azkaban..."

"God, do you ever say anything remotely resembling the truth?"

"I gain nothing by sullying Dumbledore's memory, Potter. History will judge him. It will expose him for what he was: a purist and a fraud."

Voldemort was lying. He had to be. But at Christmas, Aberforth had said his father had been sent to Azkaban...

"I'm not stupid," Harry said, "I know Dumbledore wasn't perfect, but if he did believe wizards were superior over Muggles, he would never have tried to prove his point like this." Harry stabbed a finger at the courtyard. "You're cruel and petty because that's the only way you know how to get people to do what you want."

"I wanted Dumbledore dead; that's done. I wanted you under my thumb; that too is done. I've taken over the Ministry; I've even got a man in the Muggle Ministry. I'll soon hold as much of Muggle Britain in the palm of my hand as I do of wizarding Britain, Potter."

Damn. Had they lost before the war had truly begun? Harry wondered. Then he thought of McGonagall ordering those Aurors to the village. "You don't have Hogsmeade," he blurted.

Voldemort dragged a hand down his arm, smoothing the silver brocade of his robe. "And why would I want that ruin?"

"Who says it's a ruin?"

*WO

Entrance Hall, Hogwarts ...2:42 a.m.

Draco had shouted and banged his hands against the barrier, trying to get Snape's attention before the man disappeared into the Great Hall, but Snape had moved through the crowd like a reaper, flattening anyone brainless enough to get in his way. As Ron, George, and Fred argued, Draco wondered if the man knew about the hidden passage in the antechamber.

"That's how Harry got up here from the dungeons, you deaf git! I told you he said there was a passage! Tell him Malfoy!"

"Little brother, call me a git again and -"

"Damn it, both of you, shut up!" George growled. "We need to get outside! We can't get past that barrier thingy, so we need another way. Fred and I know this castle like the back of our hands, even without the ma -"

Fred pinched his twin's arm making him yowl; George boxed Fred in the ear as Fred cast a look at Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes. "If you're talking about that map, I know all about it." They all stared at him as if they didn't believe him. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good..." he said.

"How?" Ron stuttered.

Draco's lips thinned in annoyance. "Potter and I share a room, remember? Not to mention we used it to check for the professor the nights he was gone from the castle."

"Whatever..." Ron said, shaking his head. "I reckon we need it now. Oy! We can check it to see how the battle's going!"

Fred clapped his hands enthusiastically, then pitched his voice as if he were speaking to a toddler. "Brilliant, brother-of-mine! Now, explain how we're s'posed to get down to the dungeons. Barrier out there, remember?"

When Ron scowled and opened his mouth to retort, Draco called out: "Dobby!"

Dobby appeared with a crack. "Yes, Young Malfoy, sir!"

Screams rang out at the sight of the house-elf. "Oh my god!" A girl squeaked. "What's wrong with it? Do you think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sent it?"

"Shut up, you daft cow!" Someone muttered.

Ron fell to his knees to take hold of one of the elf's hands. "Dobby, are you all right? Is that blood?"

Dobby had on his Hogwarts tea towel, as usual, but the front was tacky and stiff with something red. His face was grim, and oddly, he had an elf-sized bow in hand and a quiver full of arrows slung over his shoulder. "Dobby's just come from the roof with other house-elves and Master Firenze," he said. "Some of us is defending the castle with pointy sticks and twangers -"

"What are you talking about, Dobby?" Fred said. "Are you hurt?" He knelt before the elf, too, but didn't touch him for fear of injuring him further if he was.

Dobby wrung his long fingers together. "No, sir, Dobby's fine. It's... It's not Dobby's blood. And, well, we wasn't allowed to tell no one about the roof, Weasley Number Four, sir."

Fred blinked. "Weasley Number Four? How do you know -"

"Fred!" George snapped.

"You weren't allowed to tell what, Dobby?" Ron said. "What's happening on the roof?"

"After you all was attacked in the village, we house-elves wanted to do our part to help if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked Hogwarts, so we-well, Dobby asked Professor Dumbledore what we could do. The next night Master Firenze comes to the kitchens with a plan to train us up on how to use pointy sticks and twangers -"

"Bows and arrows," Draco muttered. "Look, as fascinating as all this is, we really don't have time for it. Dobby, fetch Harry's map for us." He added as an afterthought: "Please."

Dobby's big green eyes lit up. "You mean the map that you checks to see where Harry Potter's Wheezy goes?"

Draco paled and his lips disappeared as Fred and George looked at one another then fell against each other guffawing; George straightened up to clap a red-faced Ron on the back.

"I do not check -" Draco began.

"Yes, Dobby." Ron interjected. "Get it now, please." Dobby raised his fingers to snap them together.

"Wait!" Draco yelled; Dobby's eyes diminished into slits. Four years out of Malfoy Manor offered little distance from years of Lucius's abuse-and Draco didn't simply share a striking resemblance to his father. His voice (while not as deep as Lucius's) often bore the same cold, demanding pitch, and while Draco had never touched Dobby, he hadn't been especially kind to him either. Reading that wariness in Dobby's expression, Draco-his brow furrowed in distress-said softly, "I'm not my - Merlin. F-forgive me... Dobby, please, bring Harry's Cloak as well."

Dobby dipped his head in a deep, respectful nod. No Malfoy had ever asked his forgiveness. "As you wish, Young Malfoy, sir."

*WO

Staircase to Entrance Hall, Hogwarts ...2:45 a.m.

Voldemort stared, weighing Harry's words. His people had all but obliterated Hogsmeade back in February-and it had been a task worth doing to his satisfaction, especially as Harry had survived the original attack. To discern what the boy knew, Voldemort tried Legilimency, again. He may as well have tried wrapping his arms around the Great Wall of China. Severus had taught the boy well.

"Nott!" He shouted.

Unmasked, Theo Nott's father dashed up the stairs. He was as handsomely built as his son, and blessed with a similar crown of chestnut curls. Once he reached Voldemort, he dropped to one knee. Looking at the elder Nott Harry wondered where Theo was. Was he all right? Had father and son already met in battle?

"Bram," said Voldemort, "take the Carrows and a few others to the village. Check every hovel and every shop for rebels that may be holed up there."

Nott frowned, puzzled, but his eyes had connected with Harry's for a flicker of a moment. To Harry the man's ignorance had looked more like panic, but when the Death Eater spoke, Harry questioned what he had seen: "My lord, after Loyd botched the raid in February I led the clean-up and cleared the village. Anyone foolish enough to have stayed behind fled. We've had no reports of anyone in the area since."

"Yet Mr. Potter believes otherwise."

Bram Nott turned his head to look at Harry full on. Save the inch-long scar near his chin and the lines creeping around his eyes and mouth, he looked so much like Theo, Harry winced. "And you believe him, lord?" He even sounded like Theo.

"Mr. Potter is famous for rather a lot, but lying is not among his many attributes." Voldemort's expression turned steely. "Now, if you find my request untenable Bram, someone more cooperative will happily take your place. However, know that if I need call on another you will find yourself at the wrong end of my wand."

Nott swallowed. "No, no, my lord. It is my honor." He backed away, head down. As he went, he glanced at Harry; Harry thought the look held a touch of concern, but it couldn't have. Could it? Once Nott reached the bottom of the stairs, he called out: "Amycus, Alecto! Away with me, now!"

Harry watched two squat figures peel away from a wall of Death Eaters to join Nott. The three took off with three more black-cloaked shapes falling in behind them. Harry paled. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything.

"Feeling all right, Potter?" Voldemort said softly, voice like a snake's caress. "Not regretting mentioning the village, are you?" He tsked. "You know, Dumbledore was mad to involve you in this war, forcing students into combat. Honestly, lacking a certain maturity and experience, children are simply far too untried, far too mindless to act sensibly." He crouched down to hiss into Harry's ear. "Or perhaps...it's...just...you."

Harry fumed. Damn it all! He'd let the man goad him into exposing the last pocket of resistance in this area-he'd set Madam Rosmerta and Flume up for death after they had gone undetected all this time. How could he have been so stupid?

Voldemort chuckled, as if reading Harry's thoughts. He then straightened up to move to the step above where Harry was standing. The man was already decisively taller than Harry, but the extra height the step provided drove the point home to an absurd degree. Perturbed, Harry looked up; Voldemort smiled down at him then stroked a finger along Harry's jaw.

Cold, hate, greed and lust shot through Harry's body like a pain. He cried out, jerking his head away from Voldemort's touch. He didn't know it, but something left him then, blinding him for a moment, obscuring the sight of Voldemort flying through air-still, he heard the pained groan when the dark wizard hit the stairs.

A noise went up from the crowd as though they had been struck a blow.*

"That's the way!" Someone shouted.

"Give'im hell, Harry!" Someone else offered.

Harry had a split second to wonder if this was how it would end, if those on their knees were going to rise up, take back Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Britain. Then a vicious blast of wind knocked him off his feet. As he fell, crashing headfirst into the staircase's unyielding stone, Harry realized the thought had been a silly, fleeting sort of hope, a child's wish, nothing more.

*WO         

A Secret Passage, Hogwarts ...2:45 a.m.

Snape sneezed explosively as he slammed the passage door closed. He leaned against it, swiping his pocket square over his eyes and under his nose. He had survived the Dark Lord and more than a decade of teaching Potions to eleven year-olds, but dust always made him want to curl up in a ball and whimper like a lost pup. He sneezed again, and again.

"Bloody hell!" He didn't have time for this. He pushed off from the door. An instant later, he had to grab its handle to brace himself. Pain, like an incision, burned his gut. A sudden rush of fear blackened his vision and his heart seized up. The ancient handle rattled as he gripped it, fingers void of color.

He couldn't explain it, couldn't wrap his mind around the utter surety of it, but he knew-Harry had been hurt.

"Accio Harry's Cloak!"

*WO

Entrance Hall, Hogwarts ...2:47 a.m.

"D'you think that since Dobby was able to come here from the roof, that maybe he could Apparate us out of here, or... whatever it is they do?" Ron said.

George's eyes widened and he straightened up from his hunched position against the wall. "You might be on to something there."

Fred grinned and threw an arm around Ron's neck, then leaned in to plant a loud wet kiss on his brother's cheek. Ron scowled and shoved him away, a bit harder than he meant. Fred's mouth fell open in a comical ‘o' of distress and his arms pin-wheeled as he tried to grab for Ron. Ron reached for him, but Fred was already too far gone. He stumbled backward and backward, then hit the floor, landing near the stairs to the dungeons-far outside of where the barrier had been. He looked around, surprised. "I guess Wheaties really is the breakfast of champions..." He groaned and rubbed his backside as Ron pulled him to his feet.

"Do you hear that?" Draco said.                  

"What?"

"Shouting. Outside. It's been as quiet as a mausoleum until now-until that barrier fell."

"So," said George.

"Potter! Something has happened to Potter!" Draco dashed toward the castle's entrance, ignoring Ron's call to wait.

*WO         

Staircase to Entrance Hall, Hogwarts ...3:15 a.m.

Harry lay sprawled and dazed. The back of his head and neck throbbed like someone was using it for football practice. He figures he must have blacked out for a bit because now Voldemort was in the middle of a conversation with someone.

"...Nott returns, I want to know what he discovered. And send Pucey to find Lucius."

"Yes, my lord."

Harry's lips curled with disgust at the sound of that voice. Wormtail, chatting it up with Voldemort as if they were discussing a spate of foul weather. Harry slowly opened his eyes and dragged himself up, rubbing at the tender spot on the back of his neck; he checked his fingers for blood and was relieved to find none.

"Ah," Voldemort said kindly, "back with us now? You've been out for some time. I was starting to worry."

"Why? I'm a bit hard to kill, remember?"

Voldemort snorted softly. "Oh, yes. A niggling detail that shall be remedied tonight."

"Yeah? Got something more original than Avada Kedavra planned?"

Voldemort wrangled his lips into a sneer. He extended his hand to pat Harry's cheek, then seeming to think better of it he stopped short, fingers hovering inches from the boy's face. He wrapped them into a protective fist and drew it back. That night in the graveyard he had been able to lay hands on Potter; he should still be able to, yet he dared not-not after being tossed against the staircase like a wet rag. Wild magic, he told himself. Children often lost control of their magic when stressed and Potter, the little drama queen, was the poster child of excitability.

 "Yes, the Killing Curse has proved exasperatingly ineffective where you are concerned, so I have had to become more...inventive than usual."

"Hope you didn't go out of your way."

Voldemort shook his head. "Not at all. It just involved a bit of light research. I have no use for Muggles, but they have always dedicated inordinate amounts of creativity to inventing the next best killing machine. Their ideas of meting out justice range from strapping their criminals to a chair, running electricity through their bodies until they die to injecting them with poison, or hanging, or shooting them. And in wartime they fashion killer diseases in laboratories, plant bombs in the ground, and-clever devils-they once built mock showers that expelled lethal gases, killing unsuspecting prisoners guilty of having-get this-inferior blood!" Harry frowned as Voldemort grinned. "I almost envy them, our Muggle forebears. So much delicious variety, such boundless depths to their depravity... Why hardly a decade has passed where somewhere in the world one group has not waged war on another because of various...afflictions..." Voldemort turned, as if suddenly remembering something. "Wormtail! Where is Bagman?"

"He should be here by now, my lord."

Voldemort's jaw clenched. "Go, see what is keeping him. If you don't find him within five minutes, you fetch Potter's surprise."

"My lord," Wormtail said. Before tottering down the steps, he cast Harry a strange, disoriented look.

"May I ask you a question?" Voldemort said to Harry.

Harry looked up at him. "Do I have to answer?"

Voldemort laughed softly. "No, but it would please me if you did." Harry said nothing. "Why did you let Severus adopt you?"

Harry scowled, annoyed. "Why do you want to know?"

"Well, it is quite the remarkable transformation, the relationship between you two-and I just wonder if you have truly forgiven him for the way he treated you all those years." Voldemort waited; Harry stared back at him, stubbornly silent. "Come now, why so reticent? You have forgiven him, haven't you?"

Voldemort could play his mind games, blathering on about Dumbledore's supposedly racist past, but Snape was off limits and small talk to fill the gap between now and whatever horrid demise he had planned was not on.

"Ah." Voldemort's lips shifted oddly, as if having difficulty deciding between a smile and a grimace. "I see. He's become precious to you. You love him. But isn't it strange that he isn't here at your side?" Harry's eyes flashed, alarmed. "Oh, don't fret. He's alive... The air reeks of his fear for you, his hatred for me. I must admit, Severus has ever been a weakness of mine, so much so that I was willing to overlook the fact that he is a coward-and a coward of the worst sort as he has absolutely no conviction. Oh, he's loyal to a fault when it counts in his favor, when his master is strong that is, but the second he sniffs a weakness, he abandons them, as he abandoned me for Dumbledore."

"My dad is no cow -" Harry began, then he realized something: Voldemort knew Snape was alive, but he had no idea the man and loads of other people were inside, steps away-if they hadn't found a way around the barrier, that is.

Harry took a moment to focus; he couldn't sense the barrier, but he hadn't been able to sense it before either, hadn't even known he'd erected it. He glanced sideways at the ruined doorway and choked.

Draco!

*WO

Hagrid's Hut, Hogwarts ...3:25 a.m.

Hermione and Savage had reached a door. She grabbed his arm when he made to pull it open. "This hasn't been used in ages."

"What gave it away? That long dusty corridor we just travelled down?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "My point is, we really don't know what's going on out there..."

"Yes?" The skin around Savage's gray eyes crinkled with humor.

He was having a laugh at her. Hermione didn't like it, but she couldn't blame him. The man made his living as an Auror. It's not as if he would blindly blunder out onto a battlefield like an idiot. Still, no matter how effective an Auror he was he couldn't see through wood or stone. He had no more idea than she did of what might be awaiting them outside. She held her breath as he eased the door open. It glided soundlessly as if the centuries-old hinges had recently been oiled.

"Mind the shrubs," she whispered as the door thumped closed behind them. "They're actually Venomous Tentacula."

"Ah. I wondered about that."

Heading toward the forest they kept to the shadows. Increasing cloud cover shadowed their movements. Savage navigated the steep rocky grounds with the silent grace of a ninja; Hermione lost her footing twice; Savage righted her each time. She knew she was hindering him, but he never complained or acted irritated, simply held her hand, kept her close.

"I should have asked Proudfoot where he last spotted the Adar Llwch Gwin," she muttered.

"I've a feeling we're exactly where we should be. The old girl did a good job directing us."

Hermione frowned. "Professor McGonagall wouldn't like -"

Savage laughed. "Not that old girl-I meant the castle, Hogwarts. Those stairs don't move around willy-nilly, you know."

"You went to school here."

"Mm. Graduated a couple years before Bill Weasley. Er, shall we kick on?"

Hermione blinked, then she flushed, realizing that she had stopped and was staring at him. Even with the scruffy whiskers and battle-torn robes, he was ridiculously beautiful. "Yes, of course," she said. She took a step and cried out. She had stepped into a shallow sinkhole, twisting her ankle. Savage stooped down to look at it. "It's fine," she said, waving him off. "I just need to walk it out, I think." She took a few mincing steps, wincing and biting her lip each time she settled on the injured ankle. 

Ignoring her efforts to brush him off, Savage put an arm around her. "Lean on me," he said.

"Honestly," she grumbled. "I've been hurt worse..." But she did surrender to him and minutes later the outline of Hagrid's hut appeared. About ten yards from the hut Savage stopped. He put a finger to his lips, tapped his ear, and pointed. Hermione cocked her head, listening. A scratching noise was coming from the opposite side of the hut.

"Get behind me." Savage mouthed, his expression grim and alert. Hermione shifted behind him and readied her wand. She kept close, practically riding his back as she limped after him, her heart beating absurdly fast. As they edged around the back of the hut, easing toward the old pumpkin patch, she fully expected to find a Death Eater (or ten) but she nearly whooped for joy when Buckbeak pecked his way into sight. She put a hand on Savage's when he aimed his wand at the hippogriff.

"No," she said. "Let me." 

When Hermione pushed past him, Savage's brows creased, as if questioning her sanity and intelligence. He grabbed her arm; Hermione turned, her eyebrows raised. She cast a look down, eyes on his hand. He let her go but poised himself to reel her back if the beast attacked.

Hermione was nervous. She had been around Buckbeak plenty and knew he likely wouldn't hurt her, but he was the size of a horse, had talons, hooves, a twenty-four foot wingspan and a beak-all deadly weapons if he got a mind to use them on her. Moving more deliberately than was probably necessary, she inhaled deep breaths as she stared into the yellow eye Buckbeak had trained on her; she bowed. Just as she was beginning to wonder if Savage had been right Buckbeak extended a taloned leg and dipped his head. Relieved, Hermione straightened and limped over to pat his neck.

"Lovely to see you, Buckbeak," she said, smiling. The hippogriff gently nudged her shoulder with his head enjoying the caress.

"Right, now that we're all mates -" Savage began.

"I am," said Hermione, scratching Buckbeak's gray-feathered chin, "but you need to greet him, too."

Savage scowled. "I don't know a thing about greeting these beasts."

"Then it's time you learned." Hermione took Savage's hand. "Start by speaking nicely to him."

Savage dragged his feet as she guided him to the hippogriff. "Nice beastie..." he whispered, then leapt nearly half a league when Buckbeak bobbed his head, pinning Savage with that sharp yellow-eyed gaze.

"Honestly! His name is Buckbeak."

"'Course it is," Savage muttered. "'Lo, Bucky."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Now, you must maintain eye contact or...well, he'll claw you to bits-then bow, still holding eye contact. When he bows back, you're safe."

"Safe, eh?" Savage grumbled, but he did as she instructed, eyes watering (from having to hold them open so long) as he folded at the waist; he waited (trembling with fatigue, not fear). When Buckbeak bowed back, Savage tried not to squeak in surprise; he also pretended not to hear Hermione giggling.

"He could be useful, you know," she said, stroking the hippogriff's flank. "In our third year, Harry rode -" Buckbeak suddenly shied from her touch; Hermione frowned. "What's wrong, boy?"

Someone rasped from the dark: "Show yourself!"

Hermione turned, brown eyes searching. As she peered at the other side of the hut a feeble ray of moonlight reflected off something silver-a hand. "Pettigrew!" she gasped.

A curse whipped past her head, blowing her hair back. Savage ripped one of the belt loops on her jeans jerking her flat against the hut, out of Pettigrew's line of fire. The reprieve didn't last long. The window in back of the hut exploded. Hermione screamed and Savage spun, pulling her into his arms, shielding her from the worst of the blast. Then he began muttering. Dark smoke poured from his wand, enveloping them, the hut and extending out to the edge of the forest.

The sudden blackout alarmed Buckbeak. He reared up, clawing the air; his talons missed Savage by a breath. Hermione wriggled free from Savage and flapped her hands about, searching blindly for the hippogriff. When she found him she threw her arms around his neck trying to calm him and prevent him from running off. Savage grabbed her about the waist and made to pull her into a run, but Hermione didn't budge; his grip tightened.

"We can ride him!" she said, yanking free.

"Are you out of your -"

"I can't run! Not on this ank -"

Another spell hit the ground behind them. A blaze erupted. Buckbeak screeched and reared up again, knocking Hermione into Savage. "Oh, honestly!" She pushed off the man, then grabbed his arm. "You must trust me!" She trapped his hand in the crook of her elbow and began pulling him toward the hippogriff.

There really was no room for debate, yet Savage hesitated. Then the back of the hut blew apart. Hermione screamed, throwing her arms up to cover her head. Muttering an endless stream of oaths, Savage fumbled around, hand pawing the air for Buckbeak. The second he found the animal, he tossed Hermione up onto its back, then he jumped on, settling behind her. "Why couldn't it have been anything other than flying?" He growled as something else exploded behind them.

Spooked by the explosion and by the unexpected weight on his back, Buckbeak shot forward, talons and hooves skidding across the rocky ground. Savage closed his eyes and tightened his grip around Hermione.

"Come on Buckbeak!" Hermione pleaded.

After a few good strides, Buckbeak spread his wings. Savage nearly sobbed in relief, but the moment Buckbeak cleared the protective ring of smoke the beast shrieked, stumbling when a spell nabbed him high up on his left hip. "Damn it!" Savage barked. He ducked down, flattening Hermione beneath him; in turn, she clutched Buckbeak around the neck.

The hippogriff cawed and took flight. "Good boy!" Hermione squeezed him, coaxing the hippogriff higher as curses flashed around them. Savage loosed a flurry of his own and was gratified to hear a scream after his last volley. No other curses came at them after that. Soon they were soaring over the canopy of the forest.

*WO

Entrance Hall, Hogwarts ...3:20 a.m.

No torchlight meant the hallway was a gaping maw of darkness. The courtyard was not visible thanks to the generous length and width of the hallway, so Draco might have been able to use a muted Lumos to light his way, but he dared not attempt it. Sliding along the wall, he slowly maneuvered over the wreckage without incident until his foot twisted between two splintered beams. He bit his lip to the muffle the oath he nearly shouted, then limped the rest of the way to the doorway. Peering around the dangling remnants of one of the door's massive hinges he had to stay another oath: Harry lay against the staircase, unmoving. Draco's nails bit into his palms as he waited, silently ordering Harry to move. When the Gryffindor finally stirred, Draco sagged against the hinge in relief.

His lips pulled in a small smile when Harry shifted to lean against the staircase. Only Harry could get away with looking as though he would rather be sitting through a Celestina Warbeck encore than be in the Dark Lord's presence. The Dark Lord was waving his hand, dismissing a man, balding, squat, and strangely rat-like-Wormtail, everyone had called him; Draco didn't like him, never had. The nasty glance Harry threw at the man let Draco know he wasn't the only one.

"Ah," the Dark Lord said kindly, "back with us now?"

Draco shrank back, stumbling in his hurry to shelter further into the dark. Gods! He hadn't heard that voice since December. May I ask you a question? It was like a thousand cobras slithering all over his body. No, but it would please me if you did. He closed his eyes and tried to drown out the sound. When he began to tremble, he folded at the waist, taking deep breaths. "Get a hold of yourself!" He hissed.

"Malfoy?"

Draco turned toward the sound. "Weasley?"

"Malfoy! Where are you?"

"Shh! I'm here!" Draco held out his hand. When a flailing one knocked into it, he grabbed hold.

"What's going on?" Ron whispered loudly as he stepped over to Draco. His foot rolled over the same beams Draco had tangled with; he gripped Draco's hand hard trying to keep balanced. "Damn it!"

"Weasley, shut up!"

"But, what's taking -"

"He'll hear you!"

"Who? Harry? Is he all right? Can you see him from here? What -"

At a loss for another way to shut Ron up, Draco pulled the boy's head down and pressed their mouths together. Ron jerked in surprise then entwined his arms around Draco, crushing the Slytherin to him while easing open Draco's lips with his tongue.

Draco broke the kiss when he ran out of air. "Merlin, Weasley..." He stared up at Ron, gray eyes wide.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Ron whispered against Draco's mouth, but when Draco said nothing, just stood shivering in Ron's arms, Ron frowned and started to pull away, cursing himself for being so stupid.

Draco suddenly found his voice; he gripped Ron to keep him close. "You've probably wanted to do it as long I've wanted you to do it... But...we do have more pressing issues at the moment."

"Oh, shit, Harry..."

"Yes." Draco twisted free and peered out again to find Harry looking right at him. Harry's eyes widened and he coughed or choked. His eyes darted up and down, taking a quick inventory of Voldemort before landing on Draco again. Then Draco felt a gentle pressure, forcing him back, just like in Hogsmeade. He scowled, hands flailing as he lurched backwards into Ron. Hating to appear ungraceful he quickly righted himself. Draco stuck his head back out and Harry's lips tightened, the way they did when he was about to swear. Instead, he frowned and twitched his head sharply. Draco narrowed eyes, ready to defy Harry, but then he gave a quick nod and disappeared from sight.

*WO

Staircase to the Entrance Hall, Hogwarts ...3:34 a.m

"Finally realizing he's not coming?" Voldemort asked, misreading Harry's relieved sigh; Harry looked up at him, fighting a smile. People! There were people, steps away, and He didn't know it! "Potter? What is it?"

"Nothing," Harry said, eyes flicking unconsciously back to the castle's entrance. Good. Draco hadn't reappeared.

Voldemort's lips tightened, his red eyes narrowed. Harry's eyes were far too bright and he seemed...giddy. Why? He looked at the entrance, the called out, "Macnair!"

A bullish hulk pounded up the steps three at a time. Once he reached Voldemort, the man clumsily collapsed to one beefy knee. Up close, Harry recognized him as Buckbeak's would-be executioner. "My lord." Harry shuddered; the man's deep voice was the most soulless sound he had ever heard.

"Take some men inside. Any stragglers you come across, round them up. I want standing room only once the spectacle begins. Also," Voldemort eyed Harry again, "see if you can flush out our old friend, Severus."

Harry's face heated and his tongue twisted in a knot, making words impossible.

"Yes, Potter?" Voldemort crouched down to Harry's level, noting how the boy's eyes, wide, owlish and angry behind those ridiculous spectacles, followed Macnair and the dozen cloaked figures tramping past to enter the castle.

"You won't find anyone." Harry hoped he was telling the truth.

Voldemort smiled. "We shall see."   

*WO

Entrance Hall, Hogwarts ...3:45 a.m.

"What's happening?" George demanded when Ron and Draco returned.

"Ron?" Fred said, concerned by his brother's dazed look.

A crack sounded and Dobby appeared. "Harry Potter's map, Young Malfoy, sir."

"Yes, right. Thank you." Draco (looking as dazed as Ron) took it from the house-elf. "And the Cloak?"

"Dobby couldn't find it, sir. Dobby looked everywhere."

"Strange..." Draco muttered.

"Right, then. Let's go." Fred snatched the map from Draco. Draco tried to grab it back, but Fred stuffed it down the front of his trousers, then held his arms out, daring Draco to take it back.

"You arse!" Draco snarled. "Potter's out there!"

Fred made an irritated noise. "Tell us something we don't know!"

"For starters, he doesn't want us out there."

"Oh? So we just leave him to You-Know-Who's scaly clutches, eh?" Fred growled.

"Don't you see?" Draco said. "The Dark Lord doesn't know we're in here. If we expose ourselves now, we're dead!"

"Hogwash." Fred started to charge past Draco to go outside. "Harry's out there, some of our family is likely out there, yet here we stand wringing our hands!"

Ron rushed to grab Fred's arm. "Malfoy's right... If Harry needed us he would've given Malfoy a sign or something."

"Oh, and since when do you believe everything Princess here says?"

Face reddening, Ron crowded toward his brother; Fred squared his shoulders; George swiftly stepped between them. "The last thing we need is you two at each other's throats! Ron, we have the map now, we can see exactly where You-Know-Who's people are so that we don't walk into a trap. Forge, it makes absolutely no sense to reveal ourselves. If tall, gray, and evil is content to be outside just now, good on him. Why invite him inside where we're safe for the moment? What we need to do is make sure this hall is empty in case he does decide to come in, yeah?" George patted his twin on the cheek.

Fred rolled his eyes. He hated when George resorted to their childhood nicknames in front of strangers. Spotting movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned and hissed: "Oy!"

A girl, about to wander past the door and into Voldemort's sightline, looked Fred up and down, her green eyes unimpressed. "What?"

"Keep to that side, eh? Go on." Fred waved his hands in a shooing motion. "Macmillan, keep them all to that side for now."

The girl, a Slytherin, scowled, but moved back. Ron heard the words "Rude ginger bastard!" as she rejoined the group she had left. Ernie shot the boys an apologetic look as he patted the Slytherin on the back. He then motioned for everyone to stay where they were.

"Dobby," George said, kneeling down to the house-elf's level. "We need your help."

Dobby's spine stiffened as he pulled his shoulders back. "Anything, sir."

"Are there any house-elves in the kitchens or are they all up on the roof?"

"Winky and about twenty or so others stayed behind, sir. Most are old and not much use except to do our Hogwarts chores. There's a few young ones, too; they was scared to go up on the roof. They was ashamed for it, but Dobby told them it was clever for them to stay because who knows how long the battle will be going on, and all the fighters will be needing food and drink and care."

"Brilliant bit of strategy there, Dobby," George said, "but I need you to round them up and bring them here, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where'd Professor Burbage get off to?" George said. "Maybe she could do a Silencing spell. It's a wonder they haven't heard us out there. Fred, let's see if ol' Hoggy will let us cast our Death Eater Repellent spell round the entrance."

"Right-o, ol' chap! My less handsome half, my -"

"Ron, you and Malfoy round up the people on this side, get them ready for the house-elves. I'll have Ernie and Terry do the same on that side."

*WO

Entrance Hall, Hogwarts ...3:47 a.m.

As the Ministry of Magic's executioner of dangerous creatures Walden Macnair did the work no one else had the stomach to do. This never troubled him. Truth be told, very little troubled Macnair. Aldous Shannon, the aging Ministry wizard that by law had to witness all dangerous creatures executions, once told his wife that Macnair's breathing never changed when he killed, no matter how tough the beast's hide, or how thick the bone. Shannon told her of the time he and Macnair had been called to the Pennines to put down a rogue acromantula. Macnair, usually so deliberate in his work that one could call almost him humane, botched this kill. He'd had to hack into the beast fifty times before the squalling thing finally stilled. "I reckon he's the same way when he's doing in folks for You-Know-Who," Shannon told his horrified wife. "When he's at it, he don't sweat a lick, that one. Soulless he is, bleedin' soulless."

Shannon had no idea how right he was. The compulsion to kill was as much a part of Macnair's DNA as his black hair, cleft chin, and rumored sixth toe on his right foot. Macnair used magic (he was a Pure-blood) but mostly for menial purposes. Strangely, he never used it to kill. When carrying out an execution he used tools-knives, axes, garrotes. Truly, though, he preferred his own two hands.

As Macnair and his troops stormed into the entrance hall, he ordered four men to check the dungeons and eight others to check the upper floors. Because Macnair's voice resonated like a wounded bear in the woods, neither he nor his men heard Fred and George Disillusioning themselves, or Ron bundling Draco into his arms to hide in the niche behind Hufflepuff's hourglass of yellow sapphires; nor did they hear the crack of house-elves quickly transporting the last of the students from the hall. Nearly everyone made it.

Ernie Macmillan, in his eagerness to see that everyone on his side had been evacuated, hadn't disappeared behind a tapestry quickly enough to avoid being seen. Between Ron, Draco, Fred, and George, neither had the chance to call out or to defend the boy before Macnair grabbed Ernie, snapping the boy's neck easily, as if he was snapping a green bean. Ernie collapsed in a boneless heap on the floor. Draco closed his eyes. He let his head fall against Ron's back, trying to make the image of Ernie's expression of blank surprise fade, but it lingered as Ron cursed softly: "No! Goddamn it! Goddamn it!"

*WO

Courtyard, Hogwarts ...time

Loud murmurs traveled through the courtyard when Wormtail reappeared. He was heading up a procession of four thestrals. He had reins clasped in his silver hand; his left hand he held up to his face. Savage's parting shot had exacted more damage than the Auror could have hoped. A long blackened gash extended from the top of Wormtail's balding head clear down to his fatty, shapeless chin.

"What took you so long?" Voldemort spat.

Wormtail's right eye fluttered in surprise at the venom in the Dark Lord's voice. The rapid blinking made the eye even more watery and his expression even more pitiful. "Someone was at the caretaker's hut, my lord... L-Look what they did to me!" He let his hand fall, exposing the bloody, ravaged socket where his left eye used to be.

Voldemort had to clench his jaw against uttering the Killing Curse. He would have done better sending the Weird Sisters! Spinning so that his robes flared out behind him, he glided to the center of the staircase leaving Wormtail to gape after him. He then turned and raised a hand, demanding quiet. The crowd was buzzing and shifting restlessly, trying to figure out what was going on, but when Voldemort motioned for silence, they slowly settled.

"My friends," Voldemort said, "the ease with which I have conquered Hogwarts and her denizens pleases me greatly, but I won't be satisfied until the false prophet, Harry Potter, is dead."

"False prophet, eh?" Someone shouted. "I know you, Tom Riddle, from way back! You want to talk fakery -" The next sound was a piercing scream cut short.

Voldemort continued: "It is not enough to have put a stop to your little...rebellion. I want to stamp out all thought of future disturbances. Thus I encourage you to take what lessons you will from this demonstration-or it won't be the last." He shot Wormtail a look.

The one-eyed wizard nodded and four white-masked figures appeared, each taking the reins of a thestral. Guiding their beast by the bridle the Death Eaters fanned out to form a large four-point star. The thestrals, outfitted in strange saddle-like riggings with long leather tethers looped around the saddles' horns, snorted and bobbed their heads, uneasy as Wormtail waved his wand, summoning the tethers to gather in the center of the star. 

Once Wormtail was out of the way, Voldemort lifted his arm, then dragged his wand in a dramatic circle above his head. The tethers slithered to life. They danced through the air a moment, like disembodied tresses of hair, then they shot straight out to bracket his body. "Incarcerous!" He hissed.

The tethers exploded forward to twine around Harry's wrists and ankles. The crowd screamed when Voldemort flicked his wand, sending Harry sailing through the air, then lowered the boy into the center of the four-point star. The men holding the reins urged the creatures forward, drawing the tethers taut so that they bit into Harry's skin and stretched his limbs. The thestrals pranced, skittish at the added tension in the tethers.

Through it all Harry said nothing, gave no sign that he was sick and afraid. He refused to give Voldemort the satisfaction of crying out. The only tell was his lips tightening, anticipating the unpleasantness of his limbs being wrenched from his body. He knew Voldemort wouldn't make it quick, that he would drag it out. To distract himself he tapped his fingers on the ground. He longed for something to hold-Hermione's hand, the sleeve of Snape's robes, Lily's medallion.

The medallion... Since Dumbledore gave it to him last summer, Harry never went anywhere without it. While the weight of it against his thigh eased his mind, what comfort would it bring once Voldemort set the thestrals loose? None, certainly, but it was nice to know it wasn't languishing in his trunk or in a discarded pair of jeans. It was nice to know he had a bit of his mother and Snape with him. 

Snape. Voldemort would kill him the second Snape showed himself. Images of the Potions master spinning in the air like a rotisserie chicken, hands aflame, flashed in Harry's mind. What evil did Voldemort have planned this time? More of the same? Something worse?

To take his mind off what could possibly be worse than being roasted alive, Harry contemplated summoning the medallion from his pocket. Wormtail was watching but the man's attention wasn't absolute. He looked like a villain in a Muggle comic book, half his face a cauterized mess, his remaining eye bloodshot and leaking. And the way he stared at Harry, as if Harry was a ghost. It made his hair stand on end.

"Accio Mum's medallion," Harry whispered, barely moving his lips. Wormtail might look as if he was ready to book a bed on the fourth floor at St. Mungo's, but Harry's eyes never strayed, alert to the man's slightest movement.

As the medallion shimmied up the deep well of the pocket of his Quidditch trousers, Harry lowered his eyes to follow its escape. He watched it tip out of his pocket, then zip unimpeded over the courtyard's thick grass. When it touched his fingertips, he curled his fingers around it, shifting it to rest in his palm. Then he closed his eyes, blotting out Wormtail's dead gaze.

A woman screamed.

"Blimey! Where did he come from?" Someone asked.

"I knew it! I never trusted him! On You-Know-Who's side all along!"

"Traitor!" 

 "Snape!"

Harry's eyes flew open.

*WO